


An Empty Autumn Road

by LeggyStarscream



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (Most of the bad tags are for this first chapter), Bondage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Internal Ejaculate, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Nonconsensual Spark Sex, Nonconsensual Valve-on-Spark Sex, Other, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Spark Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeggyStarscream/pseuds/LeggyStarscream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An artifact of Drift's past resurfaces for the first time in a long time; Ratchet's the only one he can trust with helping him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Head those warnings, all ye who enter here.
> 
> The title was inspired from a haiku by Bashō:
> 
> kono michi ya  
> yuku hito nashi ni  
> aki no kure 
> 
> Roughly translated,
> 
> The road here--  
> No traveler comes along  
> This autumn evening.

"... and so I said, that's no Quint, that's a squid!"

The small group gathered in Swerve's burst out laughing - Hound's had a collection of tales from his time on Earth, and a fondness for sharing them after he got a little overcharged. Drift looked at Rewind, and they both laughed harder, for no reason other than how hard the other was laughing.

"Hey, Drift. Enjoying yourself?" Swerve came up to the Third-in-Command, an empty cube already in hand. "Want anything? I mean, you always say no, but that's not going to stop me from asking you everything."

"No, thank you Swerve." Drift replied, helm held upright. "But I do appreciate the offer, again, as always."

"Sure thing, Drift - just lemme know if that changes," Swerve said with a big grin, giving Drift a friendly clap on the shoulder.

Something within Drift rocked. Drift's optics shot open as memories rushed back up, and he quickly, quietly turned to leave.

"Hey! Hey Drift!" Swerve called after him; Drift didn't turn around. "Huh, wonder what's got up in his gears?" muttered the barkeep as he turned back to his patrons: Blades was up next.

* * *

_ "Hello, Deadlock. Fancy seeing you at this hour." Deadlock's optics had been forcefully offlined, but his aurals functioned flawlessly. He was on his back, arms bound above his helm, legs bound together. His vocalizer was offline. The voice came from a mech standing at his feet. That was all he knew. _

That voice. Remembering that voice froze Drift's spark, and it was all he could do to keep from purging his tanks right outside of Swerve's.

It had been a long while since he had felt it, inside of him, the reminder he carried of his mistake sloshing back and forth inside of him.

_A servo reached now and stroked the side of his helm. Deadlock jerked his helm, trying to get it away. "Now, now, Deadlock. There's no need for the fuss. I'm not going to hurt you."_

Drift held a hand over his spark chamber. Ratchet would know what to do. Ratchet might even be able to solve this.

But that would mean telling Ratchet - it would mean telling Ratchet what happened.

And there was no way Drift would be able to look Ratchet in the optics again.

_Deadlock refused to sit quietly, fighting against each of the light touches until they became a blow to his midsection. He wanted to cry out, but his vocalizer was still offlined. Another one came down for good measure, and then it was back to the molestation._

He took a step, and his hyperawareness fixated on the fluid brushing up against the corona of his spark. It never got closer than that. It never physically hurt. But it was enough to make him collapse against the wall.

He wanted to sit there, waste away until he was nothing but his keens, but footsteps were coming down the hallway.

If people found him, here, they'd ask what was wrong. And that was not a conversation he wanted to have - not with Ratchet, not with anyone.

_If there was one thing Deadlock prided himself in, it was not giving into pleasure, which made him one of the best undercover agents that the Decepticons had. He'd tart himself up, present himself as a pleasure mech, then take care of business once the he had the mech isolated. Easy, efficient._

_His medical port cover was ripped off, and Deadlock silently roared in pain. He could feel the light drip of energon from the tear caused by the rough pull. A cable was plugged into him. His awareness of the upload brushed against his consciousness, but it wasn't until his spark chamber began opening of its own accord that he knew what the code was for._

Drift wasn't sure where he was going anymore - he was weaving through the hallways of the Lost Light, taking turns at random, just trying to avoid everyone. Moving helped him keep himself distracted from the other sensations.

_His captor - whoever it was - crawled on top of him, one leg on either side of his frame. Deadlock felt his interface array warming up, but his panel remained locked in place, thank Primus. A digit drifted across the outermost edge of his spark, and Deadlock's frame froze. "Don't worry, Deadlock… I'm not going to offline you."_

Drift doubled-over, suddenly aware that he had lost track of where on the ship he was. The hallway he was in looked just like every other hallway in the ship, generic and blank. Drift slowly walked forward, grip on his Great Sword, mind braced for whatever lay in front of him.

_The wet sound of an aroused valve panel opening rang in his aurals. Deadlock tried to struggle more, but the code had frozen his movement. His spark was stroked again, twice, three times, and despite himself, Deadlock felt a shiver of arousal course through his frame. Two servos pressed against his shoulders, and a moment later, something else came into contact with his spark._

Footsteps from in front of him. Drift slipped into an indent in the wall just before the other party turned the corner. Whoever it was, they wouldn't take him this time. If he was lucky, they'd pass on by. If he was lucky...

_The moans were indecent, exaggerated. Deadlock's captor shifted her hips back and forth, angling her valve against his spark and soaking up the pleasure from the energy of his innermost self. Deadlock was bound, paralyzed, blinded, silenced, helpless as the mech on top of him used him for her own pleasure. Deadlock forced himself to focus on what he could learn, even as he was used as the worst sort of pleasure drone. She was about his size from the size of her servos and the weight she pressed with._

_There wasn't much else. Yet._

The footsteps drew closer and closer, and Drift was suddenly aware of how loud the pulses of his spark and fuel pump were, how every slight movement from every joint sounded of metal against metal. He tensed, holding a practiced pose from vorns of experience, waiting for proper moment. Three, two… the mech turned and saw him. Drift half-drew his blade before he recognized Ratchet standing in front of him, field full of concern.

Drift dropped to his knees, as the remaining energy in his frame dissipated instantly.

_It was almost over. Faster ventilation cycles, sharper moans… Deadlock thanked every deity he could remember that it was almost over. Deadlock mentally braced himself for transfluid to squirt across his faceplates - humiliating, but it was something he knew well._

_The pressure from her hands shifted, growing heavier, and Deadlock lost track of how her frame was oriented, until something brushed up against his spark. Too thick to be a digit. It rocked back and forth against his spark for a moment before his captor cried out, and transfluid shot directly through Deadlock's spark, coating his sparkchamber._

Drift wrapped his arms around his knees, and Ratchet sat down next to him, arm outstretched but not touching Drift.

"You okay?" the medic asked after a few moments of silence.

Drift muttered something.

"I- I'm sorry, Drift, I didn't catch that."

"Yes, I'm !" Drift shouted without moving.

Ratchet didn't move, and Drift felt his internals curl up around themselves, as though his t-cog was trying to reformat his entire inside. Of all the mechs on the Lost Light, Ratchet would understand best.

Of all mechs on the Lost Light, Ratchet was the last mech he wanted to tell.

They sat like this, Drift curled up away from Ratchet, until Drift's systems finally relaxed. Drift hadn't noticed how tight his grip on his legs was until he let go, his arms dropping to the side. Ratchet reached out gingerly for Drift's servo, and Drift grabbed it, reflexively.

He paused a moment and let his thoughts settle, servos interwoven with Ratchet's.

"I need your help," he said finally, and Ratchet smiled, only slightly.

"How can I be of assistance?"


	2. Chapter 2

Drift followed Ratchet back to the medbay. He had framed his problem as a "medical non-emergency," and Ratchet chuckled as he glanced over at the mech. His spark was still pulsing, but the panic had faded. He was safe.

Ratchet sat Drift down in his office and closed the door. It was small, cramped; it had been build to be just large enough for private medic/patient conversations. Ratchet mostly used it for extra storage.

"So, before we begin," Drift looked back up at Ratchet as the medic spoke, "no matter what you tell me here, I'm going to suggest that you go see Rung."

Drift looked at him, confused. "I'll be fine. I just need you to fix something."

Ratchet gave him a patented look. "If you say so. Now, mind telling me what's wrong?"

Drift's optics dropped from Ratchet. He knew what he needed to say, but his vocalizer froze halfway through the first word. Ratchet sat there, waiting patiently, until he found the words again.

"I… I'm unclean," was all he could find.

"Where?" Ratchet's voice was clean, even.

Drift looked up at Ratchet, and simply tapped himself, right on the central seam of the plating over his spark.

Ratchet nodded, and Drift's arms dropped to his side again and he offlined his optics to help reinforce his emotional levy. Drift lost himself in his fuel pumping, his spark pulsing; he anchored his mind to what he knew to be him. Every pump, every pulse, every little sensation he could feel, he counted, and when he was finally ready again, he onlined his optics again, and found Ratchet sitting next to him. Drift reached out and grabbed Ratchet's servo with his own, squeezing tightly.

"May I take a look?" Ratchet asked, as gingerly as he could. Drift gave a single, slow nod and a soundless Yes passed through his vocalizer. He found the command to unlock his sparkchamber almost instantly.

_"Don't worry, Deadlock… I'm not going to offline you."_

"Drift?" Ratchet's voice brought Drift's mind back to the present. His chronometer confused him for a moment - more time had passed than he expected. "Drift, are you okay?"

Drift picked himself up off the floor - he couldn't remember falling. Ratchet had a servo in his and the other on his shoulder, and Drift used the grip to pull himself back to his pedes. In the same motion, he threw open his spark chamber. The room's air was cool, and Drift was aware of every single component that was now exposed.

"Alrighty then," Ratchet said, helping Drift sit back down, "let's take a look."

Drift offlined his optics again, his grip on Ratchet's servos squeezing ever tighter. He could feel Ratchet using his frame to support his weight, but the medic was quick and the pressure lifted very quickly.

"Cleanup shouldn't take more than a moment. If we're lucky, I've got the tool we need right behind you." Drift got up out of the way, using Ratchet's servo to help him up, "After all, the only thing we need is suction."

Drift chuckled as Ratchet made a sucking noise while he grabbed what he needed. "Alright, kid, let's get you all cleaned up."

Drift closed his optics again as the machine hummed to life. Drift vented, softly. Ratchet put a soft servo on his shoulder. "Ready for this?"

Drift just nodded. Ratchet brought the suction tube into his spark chamber, carefully avoiding touching the sides of the chamber. But, Drift could feel even the small air currents caused by the movement inside him.

_"There's no need for the fuss. I'm not going to hurt you."_

The voice echoed in his aurals, and Drift jerked away from Ratchet, snapping his spark chamber shut again. When he looked up at Ratchet, his vision was blurry, but Ratchet was very clearly keeping his distance.

"Are you okay?" Ratchet asked, setting the machine down and turning it off.

Drift nodded.

"We don't have to do this right now, if you're not ready."

Drift nodded again.

"Do you want to try again?"

Drift shook his head, as all of his systems began slowing back into their steady rhythm again. He hung his head and Ratchet reached out a hand to him, palm up.

"C'mon, kid. I'll take care of you, soon as you're ready. First things first, though. Let's get you on Rung's books."

It took a moment before the nod came, and Ratchet sent the comm immediately after. Rung, fortunately, was free to take it and the appointment was scheduled for right then and there.

"You're going to be okay. Trust me."

Drift cracked a smile - more forced than anything, but it was there. Ratchet smiled back at him. "Want company for the walk? I need to let Roddy know that we're running low on a few things anyway."

Drift didn't say anything - but instead just wrapped an arm around Ratchet's. Ratchet led the way down the Lost Light's halls, silently. Drift could feel the pulsations from the medic's own systems - nerves about convincing Rodimus to stop for supplies, no doubt.

Ratchet stopped at the door to Rung's office.

"Whelp, kid. This is where I leave you. Feel free to drop by anytime."

He turned to leave, and made it three steps before he heard Drift's quiet "Thank you."

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been nervous about writing fic featuring these sort of themes; if you want to leave feedback, it would be much appreciated.


End file.
